Out in the Woods
by LittleWingx
Summary: It's just a bar in downtown New Orleans, but you might as well be out in the woods for all the predators around. The Wurlitzer runs on wolves' blood and magic and you just might get a round for free. If you can keep your head attached long enough to drink it. [ Jukebox Klonnie. ]


**Author's Note:** Well, I was talking Klonnie with Anatastia-G one of these times and I was listening to some blues music at the time, and really, all this started from the flash of a slow dancing scene in my head. And then I was looking for something to do with a bunch of excess energy and listening to a blues playlist yet again, and here this is. I'm gonna preface this by saying second person point of view isn't for everyone. And I don't often write in it. But this is how it demanded to be written, so this is the way it came out.

The songs quoted and a few others that helped inspire this mess:

 _Tin Pan Alley_ – Stevie Ray Vaughan

 _My Time After While_ – Buddy Guy

 _What Kind of Woman is This?_ – Buddy Guy

 _Rock Me Baby_ – BB King

 _Pride and Joy_ – Stevie Ray Vaughan

 _I Came Up Hard_ – Buddy Guy

 _Never Gonna Change_ – Buddy Guy

 _Out in the Woods_ – Buddy Guy

* * *

You've come a long way to make this journey. This pilgrimage, one might say.

You haven't been a vampire for long. A year, year and a half maybe, the months seem to draw together at this time. You have to re-learn time again when you are dead and unborn. It still passes, you just don't always pass with it.

But you have made it, you think, in a timely enough fashion. He should still be here, the one you've come to see. The one you've heard about. He who is **Klaus Mikaelson**. Once Original vampire, now Original hybrid. His name travels farther than his face does. You are only from the west coast of the United States, but through your efforts have only met two vampires that can actually say what a Klaus Mikaelson looks like.

To their credit, his features do not sound very distinguishable. Tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed, handsome, smiling mouth and silver tongue. Unless he is speaking, he might be difficult to pick out in an otherwise diverse crowd.

And insofar, that is true. You are in New Orleans. You were told this bar is one he frequents, and in fact, he's probably in attendance tonight. You just don't know where.

It's only been a year, year and a half, since you turned. And yet it still feels like you're learning, learning, learning, still learning. Your super senses are young and dumb and sometimes you listen too hard and give yourself a headache, or look too hard and go cross-eyed. You can't tell the difference between smelling another vampire and just smelling another vampire _on_ somebody else. The one who made you is a terrible teacher, but you don't know that yet. You won't know that for another six months. It isn't his fault, he's not a very old vampire himself. One of those new age, black leather and greasy hair God complex types. You try not to spend much time with him.

You know enough that there _are_ vampires in the bar. Also witches and humans, and something else you can't quite put your finger on but that just seems to be New Orleans. _Oh you can't help that, we're_ _ **all**_ _mad here._

No one has their fangs out though. It's all low conversation, indolent flirtation and loud bursts of laughter. The clinking of glasses in hands and on top of the bar. Old dark wood that's swollen with moisture and age but glazed to hide the years. Cigarette smoke near the door and clusters of people to generate it.

There must be a band playing at some point. But for the time being, the only music comes from a Wurlitzer 1015 against the wall. With its neon lights and lazy bubbles, it's electric blues guitar and crooning voice,

 _"_ _Tin Pan_ _Alley's the roughest place I've ever been. All the people down there livin' for their whiskey, wine and gin."_

You wonder if this is somebody's idea of a joke. Such a plain place and the Original hybrid, Klaus Mikaelson, is supposed to be here? And how will you know exactly if he is? Surely, the man doesn't walk around in full hybrid form; whatever that might be. Would it do any good to ask for him directly? That might send the wrong signal. He is king here. He is king everywhere, with the power to kill all creatures and never be touched by death himself. To not only be one of the _Old Ones_ as you've heard him called, but also deathless. Has he always been here, you wonder? He has been here before you, and he'll still be here after you. The world of vampires is one of violence, you are young, but you hold no illusions of reaching a thousand years yourself. The first hundred years are the hardest.

Maybe he'll look different. Maybe he's that guy that just walked in. Or maybe he's in the bathroom. Maybe he's the guy nursing a watered down drink to your extreme left. Or maybe he's feeding out back. Or maybe he's even less obvious.

Like that nervous looking dark haired guy (kid? Does anybody know when Klaus was turned? Was he turned? Maybe you should ask if you meet him) talking to the smiling dark-skinned man next to him. Or maybe _that's_ Klaus. A convenient way to hide himself in public, claim to be blond haired and blue eyed when he's really brown eyed and brown skinned. He looks like he's used to being in charge. Self-assured. Easy, confident smile. Busy hands and animated conversation. Extremely good-looking, and just as charming. You can tell by the collection of females gathering around him. He doesn't go long without getting a smile or a small chorus of laughs. You try to focus your hearing for the drop of the hybrid's name. It happens, but it's nothing definitive. Unless Klaus is the kind of guy to talk about himself in the third person at length.

So that one is a _maybe_.

Then there's this couple in what isn't exactly a dance floor, it's just open space where there are no tables and no stools. Buddy Guy going on about how it's _his time after awhile_ isn't exactly the kind of music you dance to. But, they aren't exactly dancing to it either. More like the lazy sway, not quite rotation, of their own little private world. The woman is short, the man only has one hand at the small of her back, but really, one hand is all he needs to hold onto her. The other hand has what probably used to be a chilled beer in it. Every once and a while he drinks from it, but not once does he take his eyes off the girl. His girl.

This could be Klaus. He's blond haired and blue eyed. But there was no mention in the legend and tales told to you about a woman. Not in the way that this is _his woman_. She could just be someone he met tonight. She could just be a ship passing in the night. But even with your young, dumb senses, you know it's more than that. Passing ships don't look at each other like that. Don't dock together with such ease and intimacy without fear of collision, damage and destruction. To ultimately break apart and sink because the hull couldn't protect the heart.

" Only you would try to sweet talk me to a song about an unfaithful woman and a mistreated man."

" Well it's not _my_ woman that's unfaithful, love. Mine treats me pretty well. And it's _**our**_ time, not just mine."

They belong to each other.

This slip of a girl in a modest black dress, that he won't let out of his sight, can't stop touching, you can't see her face. But she must be pretty. She must be kind. She must be _something_ special for a man to look at her like _that_. What you _can_ see certainly doesn't hurt. Warm, brown skin. Long, shapely legs. The nice curve of her backside. Slender arms that are locked around the man's neck. Dark brown curls that spill over her shoulders. The rest of her is hidden, nearly enveloped by him. You think it might be safer to focus on his looks instead. Just in case he _is_ Klaus. His reputation doesn't paint him as a man who would tolerate another's lingering gaze for long. You didn't come all this way to meet him and then die a violent death because you were curious.

So this contender fits the description, he must be some sort of charming to have such a pretty girl on his arm. Just as enamored with him as he is with her, for she hasn't turned her head once either. Part of you wants to listen in, to see if she calls him by name. But such an intrusion seems unforgivable. Even enemy threats are delivered here with a certain formality and the illusion of sympathy. Southern hospitality and all that.

The man's clothing doesn't clear anything up though. Black jeans, black boots and a white long-sleeved shirt that almost looks a size too small. The few buttons at the top have no hope of ever meeting the holes they were sewn no for. God only knows why he bothers with the sleeves. They're rolled up. But who the hell could blame him with how hot and muggy it is here in Louisiana? No wonder they call it the Bible Belt, the South must be a prerequisite for hell. If you don't like the heat here, you better get right before you get any lower.

The only really distinguishing things about his appearance are his height, his build and the multitude of necklaces around his neck. You can't help but wonder if he is one of the witches you sense.

They are stationary long after the song is over, if they were ever really listening to begin with. Wrapped up in the orbit of each other, they don't even break to return to the bar. Their hands are joined, fingers interlocked as the tall blond leads the way. The crowd that is building parts for them. What must be an empty beer bottle now gets casually tossed into a big gray garbage can at the complete other end of the bar. Over the heads of patrons, over your head, and the two working bartenders to land with a loud clicking and the rustling of the black plastic bag. A small round of applause breaks out. A few more humorous souls hold up napkins with the number ten written on them. Except the dark-skinned man you saw earlier. His napkin has a 9.5 on it and he's shaking his head in faux disappointment.

The petite woman is amused, but her boyfriend only snorts and beckons a bartender over. " Round of drinks on me, mate."

Another, louder round of applause follows. This time with cheering.

" Except for that bloke down there. The smartass with the 9.5 on his napkin. He gets half of whatever he's drinking."

Now it's the other guy's turn to look offended and snort. His arms raise in a "dude, seriously?" gesture. You think this one might be Klaus after all. Who would _not_ buy **Klaus Mikaelson** a drink? Even if he did criticize something you did. You tense, unsure if violence is about to break out. You've seen hearts ripped out, heads taken off and necks snapped for far less.

But it doesn't come to that at all. In fact, the tall blond, with a surprisingly powerful voice, just points at his critic. " You can have the rest of your bloody drink when I have the rest of my points." Then he sort of gestures towards the dark-haired male that's been at his side. " Or you can kill Josh and take _all_ of his."

The dark-haired male, so named Josh, laughs a bit nervously and tries to play up the fact that it _is_ a joke. Even your young, dumb senses can suss out his underlying fear. " Hah. **Ha**. _Yoooooou_. You're such a kidder." When the dark-skinned male _does_ turn to look at him in contemplation though, Josh jumps and looks between them. " He—He was kidding. You don't want this drink. There was a strawberry in it, and I already ate it. It's all ice and seeds—"

Both of them laugh at this Josh' thinly veiled panic.

You're convinced now. One of these men **must** be Klaus.

Everyone is amused by the exchange except for the petite woman still attached to the blond male's arm. Her lovely pink lips purse and she tugs on his arm to get his full attention. " _Nicholas_ -" she begins in her chiding tone.

" _**Nicholas**_ ," he mocks right back, cutting her off. " That's what _you_ sound like."

Immediately, her mouth shuts and she makes a soft noise of exasperation. Then proceeds to release his hand so she can poke him in the side. Or at least she tries to. He must have seen that response coming because his arm is quick block such an assault. Now _he's_ the one with the chiding tone and stern finger in her direction. " ' _ey_. None of that."

" That's what I thought." She takes it about as seriously as he does. The hand that she had been using to prod him, instead wraps around his bicep and she leans up to take a kiss he readily gives. Then it has to move up to his chest to push him back when he chases her lips to get another. She intends to leave him, but only to go to the ladies' room. Her laughter is full of the silly, happy, seemingly eternal love found in 80s movies and doo wop songs.

His love is not of that decade, maybe not even that era. But it's there all the same. " Yeah, that's right," he taunts as he turns his body to follow her departure. " You _better_ run, witch."

" You better watch your back."

" I'd much rather watch _yours_."

And he isn't the least bit subtle about the way he does just that.

You think of a clever solution to your problem in the meantime. Perhaps you can find out in a round about way who here is Klaus Mikaelson. You'll just ask the bartender. Surely, if he frequents this place, then they must know him.

You strategically place yourself near enough to both men you think Klaus _might_ be, and flag yourself down a cheap beer. Then you casually, or what you hope is casually, ask if the hybrid has been around lately.

The blond male to your left lets out a sigh that is a thousand years weary and perhaps a bit disgusted. " What's he done _this time_?"

" What _doesn't_ he do?" The accusation comes from your right. The man with the 9.5 napkin. " He's always meddling in something."

" Oh, sod off," snaps the blond in that powerful voice of his. Only it's accompanied by another one of his accurate tosses. It isn't thick glass this time, though, only ice. Which his antagonize (you think, probably his good friend) fails to block. " Who asked _you_ Marcel?"

" Hey, hey!" The bad thing about being pelted with ice, is even if it doesn't hit it's exact target—if it hits you at all in fact—you still get wet. And cold. And stay that way until you dry. " A grown-ass man throwin' ice at folks for no good reason. Now that's a damn shame. When Bonnie gets back, I'm _telling_."

" You're gonna keep your bloody mouth shut," threatens. . . Nicholas? You think that's what his girlfriend, Bonnie, called him. " Before I find something bigger to throw at you."

" So, not Bonnie?"

There's the abrupt, harsh sound of wood grinding against wood when Nicholas stands up. Men, vampires, werewolves, hybrids, only move like that when they're about to get into a fight. You think he might forgo the whole 'finding of something bigger' and just plain throw Marcel. Not that he's worried. He's quite pleased with himself for causing such a reaction.

He's even more pleased when Bonnie returns and automatically catches hold of Nicholas' arm. " Whoa, what are you doing? Why are you going to beat up Marcel? What did he do to you?"

" _Marcel_ ," the charming, dark-skinned male stresses his own name and his own innocence. " Didn't do anything. **I** was just being helpful and friendly to a tourist."

Unwilling to separate himself from his small girlfriend, Nicholas only snorts and pulls her around behind him to take his seat instead. He claims the one at her side, but it's the side closest to Marcel. Possessive. " Don't let that man lie to you, love. He started it."

" _You_ started it," snaps Marcel with the same efficiency Nicholas displayed earlier. " You always start it. Listen," and suddenly the attention is back on you again. Marcel bumps your arm to draw you back into the conversation, then gestures to Bonnie. " Tell the lovely lady why you're visiting. Tell her what Klaus did this time and she'll punish him for it."

You don't know how to handle this. Caught between not two Klauses, but still people more powerful and familiar with each other than you. You decide to just be honest and maybe settle for clearing up your confusion in case one of them does actually kill you. " I just came to see Klaus, but I'm not exactly sure who he is."

And in the moment after you speak, the bar goes dead silent.

Everyone is staring at you.

It feels like when you were in elementary school and you were called to the board to answer a question everyone knew you couldn't answer.

All these super senses of yours do you no favors as you become more and more hyper aware of all the eyes drilling into you. Are you about to be torn apart? Is your ignorance about to be your undoing?

You just barely keep from flinching with someone speaks. Bonnie. The petite girlfriend who now has her arms locked around Nicholas' shoulders so she is not body blocked out of the conversation but also does not agitate his jealousy. " Raise your hand, Klaus."

Nicholas raises the hand without the beer in it.

And he is the only one who does so.

Wait, what?

" But. . ." You're even more confused now. Is this a joke? Is this what they do to people who come looking for the Original hybrid? Distract and disorient their prey before they murder and feed? " I heard her call you _Nicholas_."

The bar erupts into the loudest round of laughter yet. You are undead and yet you flush down to your neck, feeling very much the butt of a local joke. Have you come all this way just to be made to look stupid?

Nichol— _Klaus_ might put you out of your misery though. He is no longer entertained by your out-of-town-ness. He says a few words lowly in a language you don't understand. But your instincts understand the language he says them in is old. Older than you certainly. You don't know if that's a good sign or a bad one. " You went to public school, didn't you, mate?"

" That is _so_ rude." Bonnie sighs and covers his mouth with one of her hands. " I'm sorry about him. I can't take him anywhere." Just as quickly as she put her hand there, she removes it with a little squeak. She shakes that hand and you can smell a hint of blood in the air. After she checks over her wound, the small woman clicks her tongue and swats him with that same hand. " Keep your fangs to yourself, Niklaus!"

" That's right. _NI-KLAUS_ ," emphasizes the hybrid. You'd say he was sulking if his expression wasn't mostly blocked by taking Bonnie's hand to his mouth to collect her blood and soothe the nick he gave her. " Not **_Nicholas_**. Your American school system is rubbish and so is your bloody hearing."

You at least have to concede the second point.

" Now that you've found me, mate, what is it you want with me?" He's looking for a fight and you know it. You've offended him. You've pissed off **Klaus Mikaelson**. The exact thing you _didn't_ want to do and you've taken exactly all night to do it.

In your haste to remedy the situation, save your neck and appease him all at once, you drop to your knee. He is the Vampire (or is it Hybrid?) King of New Orleans, and that's what people do in front of the Queen of England. You figure it's the same thing. Same level of respect. You have to do something. _Say_ something. Words are coming out and you don't immediately realize it is you that is babbling like that, but now you can't stop. " Nothing, sire, I don't want any problems, I just haven't been a vampire long—only a year, really—and I heard about you, and you _exist_ and—and it's like being human and meeting _Superman_."

Except your move alarms him, and before your knee actually makes contact with the hardwood floor, he's grabbed you by the arm. You can't process his speed. And his strength leaves no room for argument. " Get _off_ the floor, mate, it's filthy down there."

" _Oh **God**_ ," groans Marcel from somewhere behind you. " Superman? _Superman_? Have you actually seen a Superman movie before? A comic book? Hell, a t-shirt! Any of them? Even the bad ones? I don't think you have because of the thing you just said."

Even Bonnie, who seems the most patient of all, has dropped her head down onto the hybrid's shoulder. " _Noooooo_ , you didn't just say that. You don't know what you've _done_."

The mood is inverted. Klaus is now the one that is highly entertained while everyone else is sour. You _think_ this is good. Except for the part where he silences his girlfriend with a few fingers over her lips. " Pay no attention to the complaints of my subjects."

You're about to say something, hopefully the right thing. But in another reversal, Bonnie attempts to bite his hand. For the second time that night, she is too slow.

" Oi." His hand draws away from her human teeth and captures her jaw. Though he only turns his head to address her, you know she has his full attention despite what he said. " Behave yourself," he says in a voice just for her. " Daddy's talking."

This time she _does_ bite him. You don't need super senses to know it's just because he allows it. He probably likes it seeing as he hasn't let go. She has to hit his hand away. " Give me money for the jukebox, I want to pick another song."

" So what're you telling me for?" He huffs and gestures towards her. " You have my wallet. You have literally have all of my money at your disposal. Pick several songs. Pick all of them. Hell, pick the whole bloody machine, we'll take it home with us. I'll just carry it out. _Man of Steel_ , and what not."

" _**Dammit**_." Bonnie looks at you, and all at once, you see why this slip of a girl is his significant other. Those green eyes of hers flash irritation and you have the sudden image of yourself on fire. It's there and gone, but you could swear you smell smoke. " Look what you did. He's gonna talk like that for a week now! You're just visiting, the rest of us have to live here with him."

Evidently that's all the backsass Klaus intends to have from her. He makes a lazy swipe at her skirt—you've seen him move faster, much faster, even with alcohol in his system—to send her on her way. " Off with you, witch. Onto your music and such before I change my mind."

Her hands swat at the air as she doesn't put much effort into keeping him from her legs. You wonder if it's always like that when a vampire gets together with a witch. Or a werewolf with a witch. Or just a Klaus with a Bonnie. You wonder if you have a chance at something like that yourself in your meager years, nevermind a thousand.

" You've come a long way just to meet me, mate, and I'm very flattered, I have to say. I'm willing to entertain any questions you might have, and you are free to share this information with your friends back home. It has been quite some time since I spent any significant amount of time in sunny California. You are also welcome to explore my city and experience all it has to offer. . ." It sounds like the end of a sentence, but it's hanging. You're left hanging with it while he gazes thoughtfully at his now empty glass. " But do not mistake my kindness for weakness. If you have been sent against me or my family, not only will I kill **you** , and the one who turned you, but I will _**extinguish**_ both your bloodlines. Vampire _and_ human. I will kill **everything** you've ever _loved_ and _hated_ , so not one _**trace** _ of you is left on this earth. I will make you a _legend_ myself. One that will be quietly spoken of the next time such a foolish plan is suggested by anyone. You'll have a story, one way or the other."

 _I live out in the woods. People, I got wolves' blood in my veins._

 _I live way out in the woods. People, you know, I've got wolves' blood in my veins._

 _Well, you know, the crocodiles and the foxes and the grizzles,_

 _They all know me by name._

Then it isn't just Buddy Guy singing. Then he says **your** name. Your _**full name**_.

And only now do you realize that you have **not** given him your name to address you as such. You **never** told him where you came from.

You can't hear the drums anymore because your heartbeat is much louder in your ears.

 _Well, when I was a little boy,_

 _I used to crawl around in the grass with rattlesnakes._

 _Now I'm a full grown man._

 _Alligators is my associates._

 _Let me explains this. . ._

When you feel the bar's eyes upon you again, it's not because they are entertained. It is not because they are sour or curious. It is because they are also **Klaus Mikaelson**. Because they look at you with the eyes of predators. You are in danger of being torn apart. Marcel is no longer smiling. And perhaps, the most disturbing of all, the nervous Josh has the same look. He might routinely fear Klaus and Marcel, but he does not fear you. You should fear him. You should fear all of them. You would never make it to the door.

 _I still live way out in the woods._

 _People, you know I ain't afraid of nothin'._

Klaus says your name again. Your _**full name**_. It makes you want to get back on your knees.

He wants to be sure that you understand.

And you **do**.

You understand the Original hybrid.

You've seen the half that is _Niklaus._ Who is playful and easy-going. Who has friends and family. A crown and a city. A witch and a woman. All that must have been won hard and must be loved hard after the fact.

And now you see the half that is _**Klaus Mikaelson**_. Who is willing to take just as much away from you, and anyone else he needs to in the name of preserving it.

 _If you come into my woods,_

 _You just might lose your tail._


End file.
